Megan's Way (7 page)

No further physical injuries. Emotional
injuries, however, were not as neatly observable for either Olivia
or Megan.

Megan had been petrified that they would have
to go to the hospital for blood tests and her secret would be
revealed, but she was spared that scene. Megan’s tears continued to
fall; not from the encounter they had had with the awful man, but
for the shame that she knew Olivia had felt in front of the
officers. She wept for her love of Olivia, a love that could never
be tainted by bad decisions. She wept because all of that mess was
her fault and her daughter was paying the price. She wept because
she wasn’t sure, at this juncture, that she was following the right
course with her own life.

Relief over Olivia’s safe return swept
through Megan. Her eyes grew heavy, she fingered the business card
of a therapist that the physician had recommended for her and
Olivia. She was lost in thought when Holly appeared in the hallway
at the top of the stairs.

“How’s our girl?” Holly asked in a sleepy
voice, leaning her body against the wall.

Megan glanced up and smiled. She put her
finger to her lips and walked down the hall, motioning for Holly to
follow her to her own bedroom.

They sat on her bed. “My god, Hol, how did
all this happen?” she asked.

“Remember us, Megan? She’s a typical kid.”
Holly lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. “No, she’s not
even a typical kid. She’s better than a typical kid. She never
gives you a hard time. She was just…exploring, that’s all.”

“Yeah, well…” Megan’s sarcasm trailed off as
she thought about the crazy night.

“Thank god you were there, Meg. I mean,
whatever it is that you and she share, well, it’s really
remarkable.” Holly propped herself up on her elbow and looked at
Megan, who was splayed out beside her. Jealousy tiptoed through
Holly, and guilt shadowed right behind it.

“I know. I worry, you know. What if something
happens to me? Who will take care of Olivia?” she asked.

Hurt and disappointment floated into Holly’s
eyes. “I thought we had all of that worked out. Remember? When she
was five we drew up the documents, just in case something ever
happened.” Holly played with a string on the comforter. “Or have
you changed your mind?” she asked, tentatively.

Megan sat up, “Oh no! no, I didn’t change my
mind at all. gosh! I just meant, who would know when she was in
trouble like I do, that’s all. goodness, there is no one else who I
would rather have take care of Olivia than you and Jack. You know
that.”

Holly breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank god!
I was worried there for a minute.” Holly lay back on the bed
again.

“Meg?” Holly whispered.

“Yeah?” Megan looked at her friend,
curious.

“I, um,” she looked up again, away from
Megan, “I got some news today.”

“Yeah? From who?” Megan asked lightly.

“From the doctor,” Holly answered.

Both women looked toward one and other, Holly
uncertainly, and Megan with burning curiosity.
Does she
know?
“Holly, what is it?” Megan asked in a serious voice. A
rush of adrenaline pushed its way through Megan. Her eyes

opened wide as she waited for Holly’s
reply.

Holly reached her hand out and took Megan’s
hand off of her concave stomach and rested it in her own, between
them. A tear escaped from her eye as she stared at the ceiling, the
lump in her throat made it difficult for words to slip by.

“What, Hol?” Megan whispered.

“I can’t,” Holly said, the hot tears now
streaked her face, landing in her hair.

“Can’t what?” Megan turned toward Holly.
“It’s okay, Holly. What is it?”

“I…I can’t have children,” she said.

Her words landed empty and hollow in Megan’s
ears. “Oh Hol, I’m so sorry!” Megan sat up and took Holly into her
arms. “I’m so sorry. I knew you were having tests, but I never
thought…” Her sentence hung in the air as her tears fell onto
Holly’s shoulder.

“I know. We didn’t either. We waited, you
knew that. After Alissa Mae…well, you know. For the longest time I
wasn’t sure that I wanted a child. I wasn’t sure that I could be a
good wife and a good mother. And when she…well… anyway…let’s just
say that it was probably for the best.”

Holly took a deep breath. “There just didn’t
seem to be a rush to have children, you know?

“We always thought that eventually we would,
and we were really happy, so it didn’t feel like anything was
really missing, but then,” Holly let go of Megan and sat on the end
of the bed. “When you first got sick, it made me think about
things.” She looked at her friend’s tired face and smiled, “I’m
sorry. It just made me realize that time was so precious—and so we
tried, I mean, we
really
tried.” She gave a little laugh,
walked to the window, and ran her finger along the windowsill.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Megan asked, hurt
to be excluded from this part of Holly’s life.

“Because, Meg, you were sick. You were taking
care of yourself and Olivia.”

“No, you were taking care of me and Olivia,
remember?” Megan said.

“Well, you were otherwise pretty busy trying
to get healthy. Anyway, I figured you didn’t need to be burdened
with my foolishness.” Holly returned to the bed and sat next to
Megan again.

“Oh, Holly, your getting pregnant is
certainly not foolishness. It’s one of the most important things in
our lives—yours and mine. You should know that. Maybe I’ve been
selfish. I’m so sorry.” Megan put her hand on Holly’s hand, and
they sat in silence for a moment. “I really am sorry, Holly. I was
busy being sick and taking for granted that you were always there.
I should have seen your stress. I should have noticed
something
.”

“It’s not your fault, Megan. My god, you
weren’t selfish, you were sick. There’s a huge difference. You are
always there for me and Jack. I think we both would have crumbled
under the weight of Alissa Mae’s funeral, but you were there,
handling
everything
. And when I had that awful flu,” she
looked up, as if remembering a specific scene, “you made Jack
dinners, and went grocery shopping for like two whole weeks for us.
You even cleaned up my puke!” They both laughed a quiet, gentle
laugh. “Besides, what good would it have done for you to ride that
emotional roller coaster with me? it was awful; every few weeks
wondering if that would be the month. It was so painful.”

“I should have been there to go through it
with you. You shouldn’t have had to do it alone.”

“But I didn’t do it alone. I had Jack. He’s
been wonderful. He rode the highs and lows with me. The man is a
saint. Without him I would have strangled myself by now!”

“Consider yourself lucky,” Megan said
softly.

The room became quiet. As Megan and Holly lay
easily next to each other, years of friendship provided safety and
a sense of comfort. Megan’s thoughts turned inward. A wave of
sadness passed through her when she realized that she did not have
her own saint. Then she realized that she’d given him up. Megan
recalled the ferry ride so long ago. The memory of sitting on the
ferry bench was so vivid, it was as if Megan were twenty-four years
old again, carefree and contented, feeling the cool rush of the sea
breeze against her warm body. She had sat on a bench facing the
water, but her eyes were riveted to the pages of the book she was
holding in front of her body, as if reading to a crowd. The sandy
shore faded as the ferry left the dock, unnoticed by Megan. Her
body rocked gently with the movement of the ferry, and her hair
blew in the wind behind her. She kept her face tilted up, just
slightly, to keep the wayward strands from slapping her face like a
whip. The ferry ride was forty-five minutes from the Cape to the
Vineyard, and Megan looked forward to the serenity of the familiar
trip. She had been traveling to the Vineyard to paint murals for
months.

A voice had suddenly pulled her out of her
world of mystery in her novel and reeled her mind into a frenzy of
desire that she had been trying to forget. It was the last voice
she had expected to hear.
Lawrence
.

“Megan?” he’d said softly.

Just one word—her name—a name she had heard
thousands of times in her life. A word that suddenly made her heart
feel as though it might pound right through her chest, and her
breathing become rapid and hindered. She looked up into his eyes,
and something ignited between them. All of the old uneasy feelings
of desire, laden with unworthiness, rushed back to Megan as she
recalled painting the mural at Lawrence’s home so many months
ago—the way Lawrence’s presence had made her heart speed up, how
just the sound of his voice had sent the pit of her stomach into a
fury, and how neither one had been able to look the other in the
eye. Lawrence had been able to manage a moment or two before
looking away. Megan had simply been unable.

Megan’s grassroots utilitarian persona had
chafed against his extravagant wealth and class, causing her to
repress the ache she’d felt for him. Though not once, to Megan’s
dismay or her delight, she wasn’t sure which, had Lawrence
insinuated that he was interested in anything other than her work
nor had he ever looked down on her. The growing electricity between
them, however, had been palpable.

The time she’d spent on the project had been
well worth the two months of heart-racing discomfort. Mr. Childs
was very well connected amongst new england’s aristocracy. Word
traveled fast around the small new england towns, and Megan soon
found her every hour booked with painting murals for the wealthy
residents of the Cape, Martha’s Vineyard, and nantucket.

Lawrence sat down next to her on the bench,
and kissed her cheek. She smiled, trying to hide her excitement,
and secretly delighted at the casual tied cotton pants and sandals
he wore, which were in stark contrast to his normal preppy
appearance. He reached out and touched the back of her hand. His
touch sent an unfamiliar warmth and yearning through Megan’s
center.

He smiled, sensing her heat, welcoming it,
yet giving her the space she needed, not moving forward with his
own desires. He inquired about her visit to the Vineyard, knowing
full well why she was going. He was, after all, the reason Mr.
Clark had hired Megan. His referrals had opened a door for her
success, as he had wished for her since he had first set eyes on
her.

As the harbor came into view, Megan’s heart
still raced, her forgotten book lay on her lap. She described the
Martha’s Vineyard home which she had been hired to paint, the
turrets that stood like steeples peaking high up in the air, and
the wraparound porch overlooking the magnificent gardens. She had
no way of knowing that Lawrence already knew these things, as he
appeared to marvel at her descriptions with genuine interest. She
felt a little silly, wrapped up in the mindless chatter which kept
her from saying something she might regret.
I just want to kiss
you
, she thought. She was relieved as the ferry pulled into
port, and the patrons began their slow descent down the metal
ramp.

Megan had paced the hotel room, checking her
watch every thirty seconds. She had just thirty minutes to settle
her nerves before meeting Lawrence for drinks and dinner.
Why
did I agree to this? I won’t even be able to speak
. She went to
the mirror again. Her curly hair behaved perfectly.
Thank
goodness
. She stood up straight and ran her hands down her
sleek black dress. She sucked in her stomach, turned sideways, and
then decided she couldn’t do
that
all evening. He’d have to
accept her for her five-foot-two, one-hundredtwenty-pound frame
that she tried hard to keep in relatively firm shape.

The din of the quaint waterside restaurant
brought a feeling of relief to Megan. If nothing else, she and
Lawrence could talk about the seagulls that hovered, awaiting a
piece of a roll to drop below them.

She nervously pushed her food around on her
plate, blushing as she became aware of Lawrence watching her, his
eyes silently telling of his growing desire, heightening the sexual
tension between them. She desperately tried to lessen her own lust,
but was unable. She was drawn to him, like metal to magnet, and
experienced a confusing moment of relief and excitement as they
left the restaurant.

Megan unlocked the wooden door to her hotel
room, and turned to find Lawrence standing very close—so close she
could smell the wine on his breath. “Thank you for a wonderful
evening, Lawrence.” She looked up at him through her thick curls,
hanging seductively in her eyes. Her fingers nervously played with
her room key.

Lawrence leaned toward her, placed his hands
on the wall behind her, and looked deep into her eyes. “I’m sorry—
for this,” he whispered, and he leaned in to kiss her. His tongue
found its way around her mouth, circling inside her upper lip and
then licking her lower lip ever so gently.

He closed his eyes and slowly backed away
from her. Megan’s eyes remained closed. She was afraid to open

them, afraid if she lifted her lids he would
see her lust-filled heart beating fast and hard within them.

Lawrence ran his hand slowly down his face,
fearing he’d made a horrible mistake. He whispered again, “I’m
sorry,” and began to turn to walk away.

Megan’s body moved as if it belonged to
someone else.

In the space of a single breath, she opened
her eyes, arched her chest hard against his, and brought her
shaking hand softly around his neck. She pulled him into her and
disappeared into his kiss. He backed her against the wall, his
eagerness hard against her belly, aching to be set free. His mouth
moved to her neck, further igniting her desire.